


They Don't Know

by why64



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Gen, Self Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/why64/pseuds/why64
Summary: Morty is really suicidal and Rick totally finds out. TW for self harm, suicide, and depression! I wrote this a while ago but hey





	They Don't Know

Sitting at the edge of your bed, you glance at the clock. It was close to two in the morning. You heard nothing, but the sound of your clock ticking, and the small breaths escaping your lips. You glance down at your bare thighs, poked with blood. A blade was pinched between you pointer finger and thumb, and your wrists were shaking. It was two in the morning, and you wanted to be dead by the time the sun came up.

Obviously, you wouldn’t do such a thing as to kill yourself. Well, kill yourself right here right now. You’d have to wait until no one is home, until no one is home to hear you fall to the ground and hopefully bleed out.

Usually your grandfather, Rick, would be awake right now. But this doesn’t concern you; he’s most likely drinking in his “office”, or reading in his room or toying with gadgets. He of course wouldn’t go into your room at night, because honestly, who would?

You heard stomping downstairs. It was probably your father telling Rick to shut up. You let out a sigh; your parent’s fights are really getting to you lately. All that bickering—they’ve even complained on how stupid you are. It’s not like you don’t know that already.

You cut again. And again. And again.

After a few cuts, you’re done. You’re tired, drained, and even more ready to die. You pat down your cuts and tuck your razor away between pages of a book. You tug down at your boxers, hiding away your secret demons.

You lay in your bed. You need to go to the bathroom. With a couple curses, you pull off the blankets, feel a shiver run up your legs, and get up. You turn on the light and leave your room. No one is there, yet the light leading to the kitchen is on. You head downstairs, and there scourging through the fridge, is Rick.

Rick is wearing a white tank top and thick, grey sweat pants. His greasy hair was wavy and curly, and looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while. He looked exhausted; his face was so pale, you could see the rings around his eyes. “’Sup, Morty.” He said, cupping a tub of icecream and a carton of milk.

Rick was the last person you wanted to see right now. You just wanted to pee and go to sleep, not having to deal with his shenanigans.

“Hey, Rick.” You say, eager to leave.

Rick didn’t seem like he had much to say after that. He gulped down the milk straight from the carton. He didn’t seem to be the happiest person right now either.

“So, ugh, what’re you doing at two in the morning?” you ask, hoping he was okay.

“Thinking.” He responded, heading into the living room. Why are you following him? You sit down aside from him and frantically tug at your boxers. If he saw your cuts, he would totally make fun of you.

“O-oh, that’s nice?” You shrug. Thinking about what? Probably Unity, or when he was younger. You suddenly feel a wave of sadness. He probably had it much worse than you do.

“Morty, what’s that?” Rick suddenly asked. You look at him. He’s looking down at you. Down at your thigh. Your boxers must have slid up. Fuck.

You’re speechless. Rick doesn’t say anything, and you certainly don’t either. He moves closer to you. You can’t even cry at this point; you’ve cried so much today. You thought he was going to yell at you. You thought he was going to laugh at you. You thought he was going to scratch at them and call you names.

No. You thought wrong. He pulls you into a strong hug. You wrap your arms around his lanky back. You were tired and dizzy. What’s even happening right now?

You finally zone back in when you hear him cry. You rarely see Rick cry, and this was a different type of cry. He was sobbing.

You felt like you were comforting him more than he was comforting you. You tried to move out of his grasp, but he just tightened the hug. That’s when you began to cry. Fuck, why are you crying?

Your face burned from the fat tears rolling down your warm cheeks. You try to keep quiet, and so does Rick, but you both were just sobbing. You both didn’t know what to do, you both were so scared, and you both were so sad.

“M-Morty,” Rick chocked, parting from you finally. That’s when you really got to see him: his puffy, red. glossy eyes staring at you. His mouth trembling as he spoke. His pale, pale skin, wet with tears. Rick.

That’s when you didn’t believe it. You watched Rick as he pulled up his tank top, revealing small white cuts down his torso. God, you never noticed it whenever he stripped in front of you. He moved closer, pinching at his tanktop. His wrists were shaking. He then moved to his pants. He tugged them down to his knees. He was wearing plain white briefs. He had even more scars. They were all mostly white and old. But they were there. They were there.

After pulling up his pants, he moved closer to you. He lifted his chin. There laid a thin white scar that lead halfway to his neck. You let out a gasp. You didn’t even see any of these scars. You look down at your thighs, which were pulled up mostly by now. Rick looked down at your nasty, bright red cuts. He pulled you into another embrace, and that’s when you two began to talk.

“Three years? Jesus fuck Morty…” Rick whispered, sipping the rest of his milk. “I didn’t know you cut for that long… Does Beth know?”

“Ah, no. I don’t wanna put pressure on her or anything. It’s kinda like, ugh, I just don’t want her to know… Or Dad… Or Summer…”

“Morty, you know you’re gonna, you’re gonna-“ He was interrupted with a yawn. “You’re gonna have to tell them. And I know it sucks. Believe me. But…” He looked down at his wrists. Now the faint scars are the first things you see when he rests his arms.  
“but I told Beth that I cut. And honestly, it was one of the best decisions I made.”

“Woah, you actually told her? What about your parents? Did they know?” You were amazed. You couldn’t imagine what you would say if your dad told you he cut.

“Ugh,” Rick was noticeably uncomfortable with the bringing up of his parents. “I told Beth when she was 13. I told her lightly, and well, she was shocked but confused. Once she grew up more, so like, ugh, around your age, that’s when she actually started getting concerned for me. But shit, she helped. She saved my life.” Rick looked too tired to cry, but tears threatened his eyes. “That’s why you gotta tell her, Morty. You gotta-“

“No, Rick!” you say, more abrupt than you intended. You couldn’t even look at him. He was focusing too much on the white strokes along his wrists. “I mean… I-I might. And I probably will. But… But not now.” You leaned your head back, staring at the glowing light above you. “Just not now.”

You fall silent along with Rick. He tried to make more conversation, but you said it all. You said how shitty you felt all the time. You said how the fighting of your parents seriously triggers you. You even admitted some of the adventures you two go on really mess you up. You said everything, so now what? You’re finally falling asleep, when he says,

“Go to sleep.” He stood up from the couch and gripped your arm. He yanked you off the couch. “You need it.” He couldn’t even look at you. This was the man who complained at people’s sleeping patterns, and how missing a night or two wasn’t wrong.

You didn’t complain. You let him give you another one of his crappy hugs, and you let him follow you to your room. He leaned on the doorway.

“You gonna be alright?” He yawned. You never had seen him act this way. Ever.

“Yeah.” You whispered, slipping under your blankets. “Hey,” you called. He shot a look at you. “Thanks.”

Saying nothing, Rick closed the door.


End file.
